


Finding Normal

by Azar



Category: Now and Again
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Episode Related, F/M, Het, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/pseuds/Azar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normal is relative. When the relative in question is basically Frankenstein's monster and the US government wants him back, sometimes normal has to be redefined altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fresne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/gifts).



It was strange how context could change something comforting to something almost terrifying. A key turned with the same soft click whether it was opening the front door of her home or a cheap motel room, but Lisa felt none of the relief and safety with the latter that she usually felt with the former. Of course, even coming home hadn't felt as secure as it once did ever since Thanksgiving, but even so...

Mr. Newman pushed the door open and gestured for her and Heather to enter. "I'll check the perimeter one more time to be sure, but I think we should be safe here for tonight. Lock the door and don't let anyone in but me, all right?" 

Lisa heard the implied apology in his tone, but didn't respond to it except with a mechanical nod. She guided Heather ahead of her into the room. Mr. Newman offered her another sheepish smile before he closed the door, but Lisa ignored it. Only after she'd stumbled to the door and twisted the lock with numb, fumbling fingers did she turn back to look at their surroundings.

A pair of double beds dominated the small, crowded motel room. The garish abstract print of their coverlets, which matched both the curtains and a pair of worn chairs flanking a small table in the opposite corner, provided the only spots of color in a room that was otherwise overwhelmingly beige. narrow bedside tables with battered faux-wood finishes bracketed the beds, one almost filling the narrow space it occupied between the bed and the wall of the tiny bathroom. Along the opposite wall, a large TV took up most of the top of the room's single dresser. Between all the furniture, it was a wonder there was any space to navigate the room at all. The not-quite-threadbare tan carpet was almost entirely thrown into shadow.

Only the shock of the day's events blunted Lisa's dismay at finding herself in such surroundings. Oh, she'd had nightmares about something like this back when Grand Empire had first tried to deny the insurance claim, but even when things were at their worst she'd never really believed it could happen. But here she was, depositing a bag of hastily purchased toiletries on the cheap table and wondering what on Earth she'd gotten herself and her daughter into.

"Mom?" Heather's voice snapped her out of her fugue. 

Turning to her, Lisa forced a weak smile and opened her arms. Heather stepped into them and they just held on tightly to each other for a moment. "Are you holding up okay?" Lisa asked.

Heather nodded against her. "Are you?" she demanded in return, pulling back and looking up into her mother's face.

It was like sliding a pair of dull scissors against the taut, worn-out rubber band that was her frayed nerves. A sudden rush of anger swept through Lisa, sweeping away the last of her numbness in its wake. "No. No, I'm not okay!" The words were as heated as they were honest. "You have school tomorrow. I have work. What are we even doing here?"

Her daughter gave her a look that could best be described as dubious. "Uh, maybe the men with guns had something to do with it?"

"But why?" Lisa demanded of the universe in general. "Why were there men with guns in our home? Why would anyone be hunting us?" A cold knot formed just under her ribcage. Everything had happened so fast that she hadn't had time to think, to do anything aside from just follow the lead of a man she barely knew. "For that matter, how do we even know there _were_ men with guns? We only have Mr. Newman's word for it and he hasn't exactly always been honest with us."

"No, but he did save our lives once or twice," Heather rejoined. "That sort of earns him the benefit of the doubt, don't you think?"

It did, which was why she'd taken him at his word when he'd burst into the house this afternoon and told them to run. But there were things he knew about them—or seemed to know—that even working for the IRS couldn't explain. Worse, she knew next to nothing about him in return. For God's sake, she didn't even know his first name!

There was a tap at the door. Lisa's breath caught in her throat even as her heart decided to try to perform some sort of complicated ballroom dance.

Heather shrugged as their eyes locked. "I'm guessing men with guns don't generally knock," she suggested with more bravado than she probably felt.

The men with guns who had interrupted their Thanksgiving might've argued the point, Lisa thought wryly. But, since she'd opened the door to them before they had a chance to knock, she'd likely never know. Nor had she any desire to ask. 

Still, closing her eyes in a wordless prayer, she sidled her way to the window and peeked through a gap in the curtains. It was both a relief and an irritant to recognize Mr. Newman. This time Lisa threw the lock with an angry snap. He slipped into the room and locked the door again behind him. "Okay. So far so good. How much cash do we have left?"

"'We'?" she echoed irritably. The wad of cash in her pocket felt like his words had suddenly set it on fire, even though she'd all but forgotten it a moment ago. 

"You," Mr. Newman corrected sheepishly. His face flushed in a way that would've been fairly attractive if she wasn't so upset.

"I don't know," Lisa answered the question honestly. "Not enough, that much I know. The withdrawal limit was only $200 and I think between the room, the bus and the cab, we've already spent most of it."

That she'd even been able to get that much was a miracle, in Lisa's opinion. Considering she'd fled without her purse, her ATM card, or even her driver's license.

Mr. Newman grimaced as if he'd read her thoughts. "It's okay. You wouldn't be able to get anymore that way anyway. If they don't freeze your accounts, they could use the withdrawals to track us and we can't take that chance."

Whoever the hell 'they' were. "Well, unless you have a better idea, I may not have any other choice than to try," she retorted. "We won't get very far without money."

He got that maddeningly secretive smile on his face. "I might have a couple of ideas."

What those ideas where, however, he apparently wasn't inclined to share. Crossing the room, Mr. Newman tossed his leather jacket carelessly onto one of the vacant chairs before turning back to them. "You okay?" he asked Heather. 

She nodded again, although the lack of a facetious quip told Lisa the answer was anything but. 

Mr. Newman seemed to come to the same conclusion. He sighed heavily. "Look, we should probably get some sleep. We'll have to get up early if we want to be sure to get out of here before they catch up to us."

Lisa's anger of a moment ago surged back to the foreground of her thoughts. "No."

He glanced at her, confused. "I'll take the other bed, I promise."

"No, I mean we're not going anywhere until I get some sort of explanation." She folded her arms defiantly. "Who are 'they'? And why on Earth are 'they' after me and my daughter?"

The expression on Mr. Newman's face sagged into something much sadder and wearier. It wasn't the first time the mysterious young man had looked strangely older than his years, but it still made Lisa shiver.

"You're right," he answered quietly, looking between her and Heather. "You deserve some sort of explanation. He-…heck, you deserve to be home right now, and it's my fault that you're not."

"Damned right it's your fault," Lisa shot back, knowing the words were harsh but too agitated to temper them, even in front of Heather. "We had a perfectly normal life before you showed up. I think we both have a right to know why it's suddenly turned upside down!"

Every word seemed to strike him like a physical blow, which she didn't understand. He was a virtual stranger. She shouldn't have this much power to wound him. 

"You do," he agreed again, closing his eyes with that same inexplicable pain. "But I still can't tell you. As long as you don't know, I might still be able to make a deal for your safety."

Oh, didn't that just take the cake! "Our safety is not your concern!"

"Of course it's my concern!" he exploded for a moment, before deflating back into uncertainty. "I…you…"

"Why?" she demanded. "Because you got us into this? It's a little late to be worrying about that, mister. Whatever it is you think you're protecting us from, somebody must think we already know it or we wouldn't be running for our lives." Spinning away in frustration, Lisa paced back to the other side of the room. Heather was watching them both, her eyes flicking from one to the other with a nervous expression that was strangely familiar. 

It took Lisa a moment to realize why: Heather had worn that same expression every time her parents fought, and it had always made Lisa's heart ache. A little fight would never have meant the end for her and Michael, but Heather had so many friends whose parents were divorced...

Michael. There was a certain irony to the fact that one of the last real fights she and Michael had had was over him trying to protect her from something. "God, you're just like my husband," she muttered darkly.

Mr. Newman's face blanched. "What did you say?" he croaked.

Lisa forced herself to meet his eyes without flinching from the hurt that still lurked in them. "He used to do this too. Try to protect me from things even when keeping them from me did more damage than telling the truth ever could have. Like when he thought he had a heart condition." Her face cracked into a sad smile at the memory and her eyes stung. "I knew better, but I still wondered if he was having an affair. Mysterious notes. Someone named Francis. Lying to me about where he was at lunch or after work…"

Now Mr. Newman looked like she'd just knocked all the air out of him. Damn it.

Collecting herself, Lisa pressed home the point. "Don't give me a bunch of crap about keeping us safe. We're already not safe! And somehow I doubt that a bullet is going to stop and ask what we know before killing us. All I am asking is: why? Why were we chased from our home by men with guns and dogs? Why would Dr. Morris kill me for asking him what he knows about Michael's death?" She threw up her hands. "At the very least, I deserve to know why knowing you is apparently a death sentence. Who are you?" 

Crossing to the same chair where he'd discarded his jacket, he dropped heavily into it and covered his face with both hands. The gesture drew a shiver of ice up her spine because she could see the moment he gave in. It frightened her more than a little how easy his body language was to read.

When he answered, it was so quiet she almost didn't hear him and so unsettling that she almost didn't want to. "You know who I am, Lisie." His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. "You have to. Roger figured it out in just a few minutes, and you always knew me way better than he did. Your common sense just won't let you accept it."

"Mom, what's he talking about?" Heather asked, her voice sounding as confused as Lisa felt.

Lisa just stared at him. Her mind felt like it was stuttering: whatever spark usually jumped from synapse to synapse was somehow misfiring. "I...I don't understand."

Mr. Newman sighed, dropping his eyes for a moment before looking back up at her with that same expression of naked…need. "Remember that whack-job a few months ago?" 

"You'll have to be more specific: I've met a surprising number of whack-jobs in the past few months." The quip flew off her lips with surprising ease.

A glimmer of surprise followed by a twinkle of something like pride came into his expression. For a moment he almost smiled. "The one who kept trying to pay you for information about what your husband had been up to since his death?"

"You mean the one with the cockamamie story about Michael's brain being transplanted into an artificial bod--" He looked up and Lisa almost stopped breathing. She sat down suddenly mid-word on the bed. 

For the first time since she had known him, Mr. Newman's expression was entirely unguarded. It transformed the vague sense of familiarity she'd always felt around him into an intense, irrational conviction that she _knew_ him. Knew him far beyond what could be explained by the months of their acquaintance. 

Under the weight of that stare, the pieces abruptly coalesced. That…man hadn't just claimed Michael was running around somewhere in a new body. He'd specifically claimed that Dr. Morris had put him there. And she knew now that Michael's body had been released to Dr. Morris: she'd seen the paperwork that proved it. Not only that, but when the man--she couldn't remember his name, if she'd ever known it to begin with--had offered to show her "where her husband had been living since he died," he'd taken her to Mr. Newman's townhouse. 

It was absurd. It was preposterous, and yet...it explained so much. All the little things about him that made no sense in the context of a stranger, made perfect sense in the context of... "Michael?" 

Mr. Newman—Michael—smiled sadly at her. Rising from his chair, he crossed the narrow rectangle of carpet between them and crouched beside her, taking her hands in his own. "I'm sorry. I should've stayed away from the beginning, like I was supposed to. Then none of us would be in this mess. But I just..." His voice dropped to something barely above an agonized whisper. "I missed you so bad, Lisie."

Lisa's hand came up almost involuntarily. It felt wrong, that chiseled jaw under her fingers, but if she closed her eyes… 

It was impossible. It was ridiculous. Things like…this…just didn't happen in real life. People you loved didn't just come back from the dead, especially not looking like they'd been sculpted by Michelangelo. Even so, the words, _I missed you too,_ caught in her throat, as if refusing to be spoken.

"Wait," Heather's incredulous voice cut through the haze in Lisa's mind. "You're saying…you're _my dad_?"

Michael looked at Heather, and the expression on his face was so much like the one his old face had worn the first time he saw her that it almost hurt to see. Lisa's chest tightened until she could hardly breathe with hope. 

"Yeah, Sweetheart," he answered quietly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay, first off, that's impossible," Heather insisted, echoing Lisa's earlier thought. She started ticking off a list on her fingers. "Second, it's like Mom said earlier: why should we trust you when you haven't exactly always told us the truth?"

Michael looked at Lisa. "You said that?" he asked.

"I think I had valid cause for concern," she answered wryly, turning a critical eye on her daughter. "Although for the record, Heather was the one defending you in that conversation."

"That was before he started claiming crazy things like he's _Dad_ ," Heather retorted, her expression twisting into a scowl. 

"Don't you think, if I were lying, I could come up with something a little more believable?" he demanded. 

"Maybe," she admitted, but the tone of her voice made it pretty clear she wasn't granting any real concession. "And maybe that was your plan all along. To tell us something so crazy that we'd _have_ to believe you, when in reality you're just a really creative creep who is on the run from the cops because you've been stalking and scamming people all across the country."

"Heather," Lisa interrupted in disapproval. Skepticism was one thing, and perfectly understandable under the circumstances. Baseless accusations that were the product of her daughter's cynical imagination run amok were quite another.

Heather wheeled on her. "Mom, are you seriously telling me you believe this load of hooey?"

In spite of herself, Lisa smiled. "Yeah, I do."

" _Why_?"

She looked at Michael. God, it was going to take some getting used to, thinking of that face as Michael, but she knew without a doubt that it was him. "Oh, little things. Like white roses on Valentine's Day or the quip that day in the subway about it being a weekday." She glanced over at him again and he grinned cheekily back at her. "And big things, like jumping in front of a bullet for me." Turning to Heather, she reached for her hand and pulled her closer. "You yourself told me that 'Mr. Newman' was the only one eating the spicy pecans at Thanksgiving."

"Moooooooom!" Heather sounded exasperated now. "You can't judge a person's character based on their taste in flowers or snacks. Lots of people probably like white roses and spicy peanuts. It's even possible to like both and still not be Dad." The 'duh' was unspoken but definitely implied.

Lisa's eyebrows rose. "You watch your tone, young lady."

Michael laughed. His eyes were dancing and he looked surprisingly cheerful for a man being treated like a psychopath by his own daughter. "I think I almost miss her monosyllabic days." He acted out an imaginary conversation between them, switching voices and poses for each 'character'. "'Hey, I may not look it, but I'm your father.' 'Fine.' See how easy that is?" 

Heather froze, her face draining of color and her eyes doubling in size. Her voice shrank until it was so small she seemed almost to have reverted to the little girl she'd once been. "Daddy?" 

He smiled gently at her. "Can I get that goodbye kiss now?"

Lisa's hand flew up to cover her mouth. Michael didn't know it, but Heather had confessed to her after the funeral that foregoing that kiss was the one thing she most regretted about her last moments with her father. 

Heather blinked back tears but forced a smile through them. "Sure. This one's even on the house."

Michael laughed again. He opened his arms and Heather flew into them. She pressed a kiss to his cheek before burying her face in his chest. He planted a kiss on top of her head in return. "Was that so hard?" he asked in a softly teasing voice.

"No," Heather admitted, pulling back just enough to scrub a hand across her eyes. "It's just...dads aren't supposed to be _hot_. You realize I'm going to need therapy for life because of this, right?"

He snorted. "You find a therapist that will believe it, and I promise I'll pay for every session."

* * *

Lisa's first semi-conscious thought was that there was something wrong with her mattress. It took a moment for the memory of last night to begin to creep back and make her realize that the lumpy form she had her head pillowed on wasn't actually her pillow at all. It was Michael.

_Michael._

Something still felt off, though. She'd fallen asleep with her face buried in Michael's chest plenty of times before, but it had never given her this kind of a crick in the neck before. Squirming around to try to find a more comfortable position, her hand brushed across rock-hard abs.

That woke her up. 

Lisa's eyes flew open and she sat up suddenly in bed to stare at the man beside her. One hand rubbed her stiff shoulder and she grimaced in amusement at her own predicament. For a split second, she'd thought the past eighteen months had all been a dream; that she was waking up in her own bed not only with Michael beside her, but the Michael that she recognized. She still didn't know what to make of this…new version of him.

Michael shifted in reaction. New blue eyes blinked up at her with an old concern. "Lisie? Everything okay?" he asked in a sleepy voice.

Lisa grunted, but she couldn't quite hold back a wry smile. Oh, everything was far from okay, but at least she could appreciate the humor in this particular problem. "Don't get me wrong: I don't actually mind you looking like a Greek god, but for the record, you made a much more comfortable pillow before."

He laughed sheepishly and reached up one hand to cup her jaw. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, for God's sake, don't apologize," Lisa scolded him. She smacked his shoulder with one hand. "I told you, I don't exactly mind." An equally sheepish smile crept onto her face. "In fact, before I knew who you were, it was more than a little flattering."

"And now?" he asked with deliberate nonchalance, trying but failing to hide his apprehension at her answer.

Now...it was irrational to miss him when he was right here in front of her, but part of her still did. "I'm still figuring that out," she answered honestly. "You have to admit, it's a lot to take in."

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about that," he agreed wryly.

Lisa shivered at the thought of what it must've been like for him. Seeing a stranger in her bed was one thing. To see a face you didn't recognize in the mirror...it was no wonder he'd sought out the familiar like a lifeline, even knowing the risk. 

"There is one thing I do know, though," she decided aloud. "I spent the last eighteen months believing you were gone. And I'll take having you here, regardless of packaging, over that any day."

The smile that lit up Michael's new face made it even more beautiful, if that were possible. He reached for her again and Lisa met him more than halfway, her eyes sliding closed as she pressed her mouth and her body to his. If it had been easy enough to lose herself in that kiss when it had been a stranger, it was nothing to now. She wanted to sink into him deeply enough that she could forget that anything had ever changed, even as she found her hands skimming eagerly over the newly-sculpted planes of his chest. Clearly Michael felt the same, because his hand curled possessively around the back of her neck.

"Okay, ew!" Heather's voice snapped them back to reality and they pulled apart like a pair of caught teenagers. She folded her arms over her chest and glared at them both. "Look, I get that you two haven't had a chance to do the nasty in a really long time, but if you could at least wait until I lock myself in the bathroom and start humming really loud, I would appreciate it."

Michael let out a muted groan. "As attractive as that idea sounds, we really need to get back on the road. Stay in one place too long before we've put a few more miles between us, and they're sure to track us down."

And that right there was the darker side of their new reality. A grim mood descended on the entire family, which Michael promptly tried to lighten. "Of course, we could save time and water by showering together." His eyes caught their familiar twinkle again. "What do you say, Lisie?"

"Again: ew!" Heather responded before Lisa had a chance to. She covered her ears and made a face. "That's it, I'm showering first. You two can do whatever you want in the meantime as long as you finish by the time I'm out."

Michael waited only long enough for the door to slam behind her before leaning in and nuzzling Lisa's throat. 

A low moan of frustration escaped that same throat. She had been attracted to the handsome young Mr. Newman from pretty much the moment they met, even though she'd thought he was living on the street at the time. Throw Michael into the mix and, adjusting or no, that attraction had been fanned into full-fledged desire. But this wasn't something that could be solved with just a quickie. She had to get to know his body all over again, even if he seemed to know hers as well as ever. "Weren't you the one saying a moment ago that we don't have time?" she managed.

His lips found a spot on her neck that had always been particularly sensitive and Lisa leaned into the touch with a little gasp. "Heather taking shorter showers these days?" he asked teasingly against her skin, his breath sending pinpricks of sensation across her skin. "'Cause otherwise I think we bought ourselves a little time." Michael pulled away just long enough to let her see the hope dancing in his eyes. "Now: where were we?"

Oh, what the hell? "Mmm, well if you put it that way..." She smiled and twisted in his embrace until she could meet him in another heady kiss. "...right about here."


	3. Chapter 3

One of these days, if she was ever able to get back in touch with people from her old life, Lisa was going to have to apologize to Mrs. Grace about the car. They'd abandoned it before they ever reached the first motel, so she should have it back by now, but Lisa still felt bad.

Maybe it would teach their old neighbor a valuable lesson about leaving her house and her car keys in such easy-to-find spots when she went on vacation. She could hope, anyway. 

"Why can't we just take a plane to wherever we're going?" Heather announced out of the blue, slumping lower in the rather hideous orange plastic chair she occupied. "Wouldn't it be a lot easier? Not to mention faster?"

Michael grimaced and shook his head. "No. Once you're up in the air, that's it. If someone saw us board, all the Doc would have to do would be to have people waiting when we landed. With a bus or a train, you don't have to get off at the stop that's listed as your destination, and they can't cover all of them."

 _They wouldn't have to cover them all,_ Lisa thought but didn't say. _Only the first one._ There was something surreal about having to think that way. Stranger, in some respects, even than coming to grips with the idea of her husband walking around in a whole new body. It took a level of paranoia she wasn't used to, and hated. But she liked the alternative a whole lot less. 

Heather scowled. "Okay then, what about a car?"

"Rental cars take your information so they can find you if you don't return it," Michael responded almost automatically. "And as for less legal means, well, a car going missing right where we dumped the last one every time seems to me like it would start to form a pattern after a while."

"Where exactly are we going?" Lisa interjected.

Michael looked tired. "I don't know. I'm still hoping to figure out a way to get in touch that friend I told you about, figure maybe he could help us find a place. But in the meantime..."

In the meantime, they were subsisting on small amounts withdrawn from Craig Spence's Swiss bank account, the number for which Michael had fortunately memorized. Normally she wouldn't have stood for such a thing, but considering how much effort Spence had put into trying to rob _her_ blind for having the audacity to love a man he hated, her conscience hadn't even blinked. Served him right, the bastard.

"We could go to my parents' house. At least until we can catch our breath."

Michael looked at her, surprised. "You hate your parents."

"Which means your Doctor Morris might be less likely to look there," she pointed out. And that wasn't entirely true. She didn't _hate_ her mother, they had just never seen eye to eye on the subject of her stepfather. Like the fact that he was young enough to be her barely-older brother.

...maybe that was one bridge she really should try to mend, now that it would at least appear that she too had taken up with a much younger man. Sometimes the universe had a rather twisted sense of humor.

"It would be nice to see Grandma and Frank again," Heather chipped in. 

Michael shrugged thoughtfully. "Well, it is kinda in the general direction we're head—"

He stopped suddenly mid-sentence. His shoulders stiffened and he sat up straighter, his eyes locking onto something somewhere behind Lisa's head.

"What? What is it?" she asked, mirroring his posture without meaning to. Twisting around in her seat, she tried to look behind her without looking like she was looking behind her.

Halfway across the terminal, a man in a Greyhound uniform was talking to a security guard. Which by itself was nothing alarming, but she distinctly saw him glance in their direction.

Michael glanced the other way and Lisa followed his eyes. Oh, hell. At least two cop cars had pulled up outside, neither putting on their sirens. It could still mean nothing, but that much-loathed paranoia she'd picked up really didn't want to take that chance.

Looking studiously bored, except for the alertness in his eyes, Michael leaned forward in his seat. Heather's genuine boredom, on the other hand, suddenly vanished and she sat up straight, looking a little too openly worried. "Okay, here's what we're going to do," Michael stated quietly. "When I start whistling, I want you two to get up and go to the bathroom: not the one back here, but the one by the entrance. Give me about five or ten minutes to create a distraction, then walk outside and get in a cab. Any cab."

"All right, then what?" Lisa asked in the same low voice. "Where are you going to be?"

He looked uneasy and pointedly didn't answer the question. "If I'm not out in five minutes, I want you to have him take you to your folks' house, like you said."

Lisa's blood ran cold. Well, she couldn't say she hadn't been expecting this sooner or later. It was just like him. "No."

Michael blinked at her. "What?"

"We're not leaving without you."

"Lisie—"

She cut him off. "We are not. Leaving. Without you." He could argue the point later if he wanted to, when they were safely away from here, but even if he intended to give them time to get away and chase the cab down on foot—which, from what he'd told her, he could actually do now—she wasn't willing to take the chance that he might do something stupidly self-sacrificing instead.

"Yeah," Heather chimed in with quiet defiance.

Michael's annoyed expression softened into relief. "All right. I'll be there, I promise." He leaned back in his seat again and deliberately waited a few moments, so it would be less obvious that they were responding to the perceived threat, before starting to whistle cheerfully. 

Heart and Soul. Of course. In spite of everything, Lisa fought a smile. 

Standing, she addressed Heather in a normal voice. "Come on, kiddo. I want to use the restroom one last time before the bus comes."

Heather played along beautifully. She screwed her face up into an expression of utter distaste and whined, "Ugh, do I have to? Have you seen the state of that restroom? I'd be afraid to touch anything."

"Would you rather use the bathroom on the bus?" Lisa retorted.

With a dramatically rolled eye and a great show of reluctance, Heather stood.

Lisa bent over and gave Michael a brief kiss. Just in case he was having any second thoughts about catching up with them. "See you soon."

* * *

Lisa followed Michael's instructions pretty much to the letter at first. She and Heather ducked into the ladies' room just long enough that not actually using the bathroom wouldn't catch anyone's attention. Then they slipped out and made for the outside door closest to where a long row of taxis waited hoping to catch a fare. 

She made the mistake of glancing back to see how Michael was faring. 

Of course she couldn't know for sure, but it seemed likely to Lisa watching the scene that began to unfold that the cops had been instructed to wait for military reinforcement and hadn't listened. Thank God. The military would've been briefed on what they were dealing with. The cops, on the other hand, were trying to be subtle, and thereby playing right into Michael's hands. 

Things were too much of a blur for her to follow what happened too clearly, but the gist of it seemed to be that every time one of the security guards or cops got near Michael, they ended up on the floor, either unconscious or in pain. He moved like a dancer, with a grace that the man she'd married could never have managed, even before middle age and years of bad eating habits had caught up to him. And worse, he knew exactly how to drop each one effectively with a minimum of damage.

She tried not to think about what that meant in terms of how much her husband had changed since he...well, died. His new skill set might be a bit disquieting, but it didn't change anything. She knew Michael too well for anything he did to truly frighten her.

Still...while he was definitely creating an effective distraction for her and Heather, sooner or later he was bound to get overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. Then, promise or no promise, she might never see him again.

There had to be something they could do to draw a little of the pressure off. Especially since a few of the passengers were starting to notice that something strange was going on. Lisa glanced over at Heather.

Her daughter was conveniently standing right next to the fire alarm.

Well, it always worked in the movies. Gesturing to get Heather's attention, she pointed behind her and mimed pulling the alarm. Heather glanced over, a grin that was a little too eager gracing her face when she realized what her mother was trying to communicate. Looking as nonchalant as possible, she reached over and pulled the handle.

It didn't cause an instant panic like it would have on television. Probably because the space was far too open for it not to be obvious that there was no actual fire. But people did clap their hands over their ears at the noise, including most of the cops. Michael threw one last punch and the last cop standing went down, then raced to their side.

"Nice move," he told her with a proud smile as he pushed open the door. "Now, c'mon, let's get out of here."

They tried. But no sooner had they set foot on the sidewalk than a voice shouted, "Stop!" behind them. Lisa froze, her heart sinking. On either side of her, Michael and Heather also stopped. Heather looked terrified, Michael just annoyed.

"Put your hands on your head and turn around."

All three of them obeyed with varying degrees of reluctance, none surprised to see a uniformed officer standing behind them with his gun leveled at Michael's head. Michael, much to Lisa's surprise and brief affront, was smiling. It didn't take long though to recognize that was his salesman's smile: the one that could charm anyone but didn't reach his eyes. His voice was cheerful, but with a dangerous edge that she didn't recognize. "You know, you really should've listened when that guy on the phone told you to wait for backup. You really have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?" 

The cop didn't seem to know quite what to make of him. He took a step or two back, but not nearly enough to widen the gap that Michael was closing. "Stay back," he warned.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you," Michael assured him. His smile turned into a full-fledged grin. "Well, not permanently anyway." He kept advancing, ignoring the gun as if it were no more than a peashooter. But then, considering he'd once taken eight bullets to the abdomen and survived, maybe it wasn't much more than that to him anymore. Then he did something that Lisa was going to have to discuss with him when they were alone. He stuck his finger in the barrel of the gun. "But those guys that are coming after me? I _really_ don't want to go back with them." Michael leaned in as if confiding a secret to the terrified cop. "Seriously, a worse bunch of sticks-in-the-mud you've never met."

It looked like things were definitely taking a turn in Michael's favor, but just then Lisa noticed another cop creeping around the side of the building, gun drawn. As close as Michael was to his opponent, there was no way he could see him.

"Mich--" she started to call out a warning.

Before she could, though, the other cop reached them and tapped his colleague on the shoulder. When the first cop turned, much to Lisa's surprise, the second one punched him. He went out like a light, even faster than the ones Michael had tackled. Lisa's mouth dropped open in shock.

Michael's eyes jerked towards the newcomer, looking as startled as Lisa felt. He took in the other man--African-American and about the same height, with a shaved head and a goatee--and his eyes blossomed with recognition. "Man, are you a sight for sore eyes," he announced, his face relaxing into a smile. "But what are you doing here? How did you even know—?"

The cop snorted and clapped Michael on the shoulder as though they were old friends. "Clearly you ain't been watching the news. Your face is all over the place. Wanted for kidnapping." He glanced over at Lisa and Heather. "I presume of these two lovely ladies."

"Kidnapping?" Lisa echoed, shocked. There was something weirdly familiar about this man too. Not to the same degree that she'd felt with Michael before she knew who he was, but she felt as if they'd maybe met once before and she'd forgotten it until now. "But that's ridiculous! Where would they get an idea like--" She stopped, dismayed. "Oh, _Roger_." Yes, she could imagine all too easily that Dr. Morris could persuade him to believe "Mr. Newman" had kidnapped them.

The stranger--who was by now clearly not a cop--gestured to her. "This the wife and kid?"

Michael frowned, no doubt coming to the same conclusion that she had about his old friend's inadvertant involvement in their current predicament. "Yeah. This is—"

His rescuer cut him off. "Save the intro. No offense, ladies, but we gotta keep moving. C'mon."


	4. Chapter 4

"How do you two know each other again?" Lisa asked once they were safely ensconced in the back seat of the stranger's cab, which pulled out of the waiting area with a screech and wove rather haphazardly into traffic. He'd shed the jacket and cap and now wore a red flannel shirt under a down vest with a knit cap pulled low on his head. Behind them, sirens blared in pursuit, but their driver remained unfazed.

The driver glanced at Michael, who was in the front seat, and raised an eyebrow. Michael smiled ruefully over the seat at them. "Let's just say we have an Uncle in common."

Oh. _Oh_. 

"Lisa, Heather, this is..." He hesitated, as if waiting for the other man to supply a name. 

"Maceo's cool," the other man replied.

Heather's eyes almost popped out. She leaned forward suddenly in her seat. "Wait, as in Maceo T. Jones? The boxer?"

He grinned and turned his eyes back towards them for a split second before returning his attention to the road. "Hey, a fan!" Still keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he raised the other above the seat, fingers clenched loosely. "Put 'er there!"

Heather obligingly bumped the offered fist, but kept talking. "Practically the whole _world_ is looking for you. What are you doing _here_?"

Maceo nodded towards Michael. "Helping out my brother from a different mother."

It took a moment for the name to register, but when it did, Lisa's eyes widened too. "Wait a second. That boxer who went missing a few months ago? That's you?" That explained why she thought she'd seen him before. Not that she watched a lot of boxing, but Jones had been all over the news, especially in the months following his disappearance.

"That's me," Maceo replied cheerfully. 

She turned to Michael, something cold and angry rising in her heart. "Wait, so why did the government let him become some sort of international superstar, but you they kept in that gilded cage of a townhouse?"

"Uncle Sam didn't 'let' me do nothin'," Jones corrected her with a self-satisfied smirk. "Let's just say I know a thing or two about hiding in plain sight." 

"So why'd you disappear?" Heather asked curiously.

"Because the past has a way of catching up with you," he admitted. "See, Ken here was supposed to bring me in. But he very kindly looked the other way instead. Thought I oughta return the favor."

"'Ken'?" Lisa echoed, glancing at her husband with a raised eyebrow.

Maceo grinned again and waved his free hand in Michael's general direction. "What, don't he look like a Ken doll to you?"

It was a fairly apt description, Lisa had to admit. She just wasn't sure if she liked the implication that she was, by extension, Barbie. For the record, she would make a terrible Barbie.

Michael looked abashed. He turned to stare deliberately out the window to avoid her gaze, then abruptly frowned. "Hey, are we heading into the city? If we get stuck in traffic, we'll never get away."

"Don't worry, man, I got a plan," Maceo reassured him. 

* * *

They were barely across the bridge when another yellow cab pulled out from the curb and drew up alongside them. Lisa thought nothing of it, at first, but then they turned down a one-way street and another cab drew out from the opposite curb so that now they were bracketed on both sides. More cabs pulled in every time they turned, so that finally they were surrounded by a sea of yellow. 

She wasn't the only one to take notice, either. Michael sat up a little straighter and looked out at their escort with surprise. "But, who—?" he asked.

Maceo grinned at him again. "You didn't think you and me were the first, did you? My man Steve's got a whole underground railroad set up. How do you think I got my cab in the first place?"

Lisa almost laughed at the way Michael's face lit up when Maceo said the word 'Steve.' She could tell it was on the tip of his tongue to ask if 'Steve's' last name was Rogers or Austin. Miraculously, he resisted the temptation. 

One of the cabs dropped back and Maceo abruptly pulled up in front of it. As soon as they'd shifted, the cab behind them moved into their abandoned place. This little dance took place several more times, until finally they'd switched places with every other yellow cab in their little escort, and were now front and center of the pack. A few minutes later, they made a fast right turn into a side street. The other cabs kept going, each one peeling off in a different direction a few seconds apart.

The sirens behind them seemed to stutter in confusion before that pack too split and raced off in different directions. 

Maceo swung the cab to the right again and into a parking space at the curb behind yet another taxi. Lisa had just enough time to notice that this one had four figures who could easily be their doppelgangers—at least from behind—in the front passenger and rear seats before that cab screeched back out into traffic. "Get down!" Maceo instructed them urgently, and all three Wisemans obeyed with alacrity. 

The police cruiser, siren still blaring, galloped blissfully right on by in pursuit of the remaining decoy cab.

Michael was grinning with excitement when they finally all sat back up. "That was incredible! Where did you learn how to do that?"

Maceo shrugged and smirked. "Saw it on a TV show once back in the 80s. Now, c'mon."

He climbed out of the driver's seat and gestured for them to follow, which they did, scrambling over the seat to the curb. Several feet ahead, he stopped by another car, this one a white Toyota Corolla still with dealer plates. Except for that fact, it looked just like half the other cars on the road.

"The trick is to get you across the border. These should help." Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Maceo pulled out a bulging envelope that had what looked like a passport or two sticking out of it. 

"Why do we have to leave the country?" Heather asked. "You stayed in New York."

He snorted. "Yeah, but that's 'cause most folks, they see a black dude walking down the street, especially dressed like this? They don't look too close 'cause they figure we're all drug dealers and they don't want to attract our attention." Maceo nodded towards Michael. "Good looking white dude like that? People gonna notice. Best move would be to get you on a plane to somewhere that don't have no extradition treaty with the US."

Michael shook his head. "I just want to get Lisa and Heather somewhere safe."

Ah. So apparently they were going to have that argument now. "And then what?" she demanded. "You turn around and turn yourself in?"

Michael looked at her, and the look in his eyes was pained and painful in a whole new way. "Lisie, it doesn't matter how far away I run. They're never going to stop looking for me. And sooner or later, they'll find me, just like they found Maceo. You said it yourself: you and Heather shouldn't have to live that way."

"I don't care!" Eighteen months of grief coupled with two days of hope made the words explode out of her. She grabbed his face in both her hands. "Did you not hear anything I said back at the hotel? I am not losing you again, Michael Wiseman. Not without a fight. Not ever." 

"Yeah, what Mom said!" Heather chimed in. "How am I supposed to do my duty as a teenager to make your life miserable if you're off playing superhero for the government somewhere?" She grinned. "Besides, how many girls my age get to be international fugitives?"

"See?" Lisa told him. She didn't bother fighting the tears that welled up in her eyes. "You're outvoted." She might be willing to follow him to the ends of the Earth, but she wasn't following his lead anymore. Not if it meant being left behind.

All the tension drained from Michael's face for the first time since he'd pulled them from their home two days ago. He pulled her into a kiss that took her breath away. The kiss lasted long enough that Maceo cleared his throat and said, "Not to be a killjoy, but sooner or later, those cops are gonna catch up to our decoy and double back. And I, for one, would very much like to not be standing here when they do."

They pulled apart reluctantly and Lisa smiled again at her husband. Her husband. That thought came a lot easier than it had only a few hours ago. Maybe she was getting used to this face after all. "You are coming with us, and that's final," she repeated. "Understand me?"

He graced her with the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. "Yes, ma'am."

Turning back to Maceo, Michael took the keys to the Corolla and the envelope, then the two clasped hands one final time in farewell. "Thanks, Champ. And hey, stay safe."

"You too, my brother."

He unlocked the car and climbed into the driver's seat. Lisa took shotgun, and Heather crawled with only a token protest into the back seat. When they were all safely buckled in, Michael glanced at them both and smiled. If possible, it made him look even younger. "So. Where to?"

Heather piped up. "I hear Canada's nice this time of year."

He turned to Lisa. She returned the smile and answered, "Anywhere's fine. As long as we're together."

Michael grinned and put the car in gear. "'Anywhere' it is."


	5. Epilogue

"Hey man, how's it goin'?" the mailman greeted Theo as he stepped—or rather stormed—into the lobby of his building. It wasn't the regular mailman, but that wasn't anything unusual. Nor was the fact that he was early, and thus had the entire bank of mailboxes open and was inserting mail into them at least an hour before the regular postal carrier normally arrived. 

Dr. Theodore Morris had other things on his mind. Things like the fact that they had almost caught up to the Wisemans at a bus terminal in the city, but the cops had ignored instructions to wait for his team to arrive and had alerted them into fleeing. Then they'd lost them in traffic in New York.

Theo had a low tolerance for incompetence at the best of times. This was not the best of times.

"Bad day, huh?"

Apparently the man was determined to make conversation. Theo gritted his teeth and looked up, still without really seeing. "I'm afraid that's none of your business. Excuse me, please." He started to push past.

"S'okay. I get it, man. Maybe this'll help."

He held out a stack of envelopes in one hand. Theo wasn't surprised to see his name on them. A good mail carrier should know who lived on his route. But he did raise an eyebrow at the implication it would improve his day. "Oh yes. Bills. Just what I needed."

The mail carrier chuckled a little under his breath. "You never know. There might be something personal in there." He touched his hand to his cap and grinned before closing up the bank of boxes and shouldering his bag. "Later, man."

Theo only grunted in reply and hit the button for the elevator. While he waited, he flipped idly through the envelopes, stopping in surprise when he came to a green one the size of a card. It was addressed in a familiar hand that made his blood run cold, without a return address. 

Or a postmark.

Eyes darting up, Theo looked around the room for the wayward mailman, but he was gone. He darted outside, but there was no sign of a blue uniform or a mail truck anywhere within view on the street. "Damn it!"

Glancing back down at the envelope, Theo ripped it open as if he were ripping Mr. Wiseman's head off. Inside was a blank card with a picture of Boris Karloff as the Monster from the old Universal production of Frankenstein. There was a message scrawled inside in the same familiar handwriting.

> _Doc,_
> 
> _I'm sorry. I know I let you down, but I had to run. Lisa and Heather's safety mean everything to me and after what happened in the bookstore, I couldn't take the chance that you might decide they knew too much after you put the tracking device back in. Maybe someday when you have a family of your own, you'll understand._
> 
> _I hope they don't come down to hard on you for it. Maybe they'll even let you build another me to play with, although I doubt he'll have a fraction of my wit and charm. Be honest, you'll miss it._
> 
> _If I'm lucky, you'll never see me again. But I hope you know, in spite of everything, I still think of you as a friend and I will miss you. Just, y'know, not enough to jeopardize my freedom or the safety of the people I love most in the world._
> 
> _Take care of yourself and I hope you find it in you someday to forgive me._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Michael_


End file.
